


Catquest 4: Close Encounters of the Chald Kind

by discocalypse



Series: Catquest Colon The Search For Love [4]
Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discocalypse/pseuds/discocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Havve Hogan and cats are having a marital dispute. Can his Rock N' Roll Best Friends mend the chink in his armour?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catquest 4: Close Encounters of the Chald Kind

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be releasing this last on in installments since it'll be taking place over a much longer span of time than the previous ones!! If you have not read the previous three fics, you can find them from the arrow above.
> 
> This installment deals with Sung and Meouch.

"Commander Meouch! Give me those readings on our current star date!"

"Fuck if I know."

The skritching of a pencil against paper followed as Sung took down the letters. His mind, instead of residing within the conversation, was with the blaring alarms and screaming scanners.

"And our position?"

"Who gives a shit?"

Doc's tongue passed along the pad of his thumb before relaying his co-captain's information. The eraser jammed into his chin as he began to concentrate. Reading over his work, it was only then that the space traveler had realized something was amiss. His eyes narrowed as he attempted to rub away the evidence of his absentmindedness. Peering over his pages to his dejected shipmate.

Pounding a stuck lever with the heel of his hand, Meouch had seemed only mildly annoyed at the racket. His concerns had lain elsewhere. The jowls of his maw curled in frustration as he ground his sharp teeth into the casing of his smoking cigar. His free hand rested against his cheek, failing at it's attempt to cover his injury with any subtlety. As his boot kranged against the shell of the steering column, Meouch's hand wriggled loose to reveal his insecurity. A patch of fur, or lack thereof, bald and prickled with old, hardened blood.

"Got'cha good there, didn'e?" Though Sung's tone was soft and his smile patient, all the Commander was able to see and hear was mockery. A self-satisfied grimace masked the other's features, holding back laughter at his sorry state. Meouch rolled his eyes, averting them to the nearest screeching object--attempting to make sense of it's cries.

"Y'know, when a guy puts his hand over somethin' in an effort to make sure it doesn't get mentioned... Mentioning it is considered a 'dick move' in at least 90% of all star systems. But no--Let's talk about my fragile fee-fees instead of trying to muzzle our more urgent matters. Were you planning to ask what I wanted to be when I grew up in the third grade next?"

"Alright. I get it, big guy." said Doctor Sung, who most certainly got it. And then some. In the time it took for his companion to unload, his nimble fingers worked to alleviate the stress his machinery was carrying. With a hand to Meouch's shoulder, he wheeled the lion from his station and begun to take over his work as well. "All I wanted was the readings in the first place. You're the one who started a whole dance class of dick moves. Just write down our shit for the books and take a breather."

Ah, Meouch's least favourite thing: Sung was right. A sigh of anguish and the flattening of the Commander's ears signaled the realization. The clattering of Sung's mechanic work wore on. Meouch carried himself to the navigational unit, taking up the pencil and pad for himself. Recording the necessary numbers. A laugh of triumph was soon to prickle his attention from the task as a cone bobbed into his field of view. Behind it, a man with a grease-streaked face, grinning ear to ear.

"That takes care of the last one, methinks. Damn... I'm so good."

"At least all the goddamn noise is gone... But what about that one over there?"

"What one?" Meouch stood straight, pointing towards a gear-riddled column, a single LED light blinking ferocious. Sung circled around the machine like a hawk, zeroing in on the one defiant light. He regarded the inner workings with intensity, thumb and forefinger pressed to his chin. A long moment passed before his body sprung to action, and it had only been to look at the soot gathered on his fingers. In a fell swoop, he rubbed clean his thumb across the surface of the bulb, clouding it's function with dirt. It's blinking was no longer an issue. "What one was it again?"

"I don't see nothin', pal."

"Yeah... That's what I thought," Sung hummed, clapping his hands in satisfaction. "Now, back to this business with you and Havve?"

"You're abso-fuckin'-lutely incorrigible, y'know that?" An exasperated grunt tore through Meouch as he dragged the fingers of his left hand across his muzzle. His fingers coiled at his eye socket to rest. His right dragged its' utensil across the pages of the log books, scribbling at a stick-figure mural. "All the Ways I Want to Pop Off Doctor Sung's Big Stupid Bobble Head from His Tiny Stupid Body: A comic by Commander Meouch" was bound to be a hit among the rest of the crew.

"Nothing wrong with bein' set in your ways if they're right," A wide grin spread across the traveler's cheeks as he'd joined his friend at the navigational column. He nudged an elbow across the open book, interrupting Meouch's venting session, and rested his cheek upon his hand. "Suh, dude?"

Meouch's eyes rolled at the question, but he hadn't come off quite as disgusted as he'd intended. The right corner of his lips twitched upward, revealing a clenched set of pearly fangs. Pushing the pencil away, he straightened, crossing his arms over his chest in a scoff.

"I'm not the kinda guy who just... spills all his guts across the ship's floor an' goes in for the Danny Tanner hug at the end. Not unless y'get a few beers in t'me first." His eyes shifted from side to side. "Y'got any?"

"Well, funny that, Commander Meouch," Sung disengaged himself from his perch, his back turning to his co-pilot. "I actually happen to be stalling for time before I have to tell you that we have to land the Station immediately or it's going to explode, wiping out the lives and ecosystems of any neighboring planets within the next 4 lightyears."

"Uh... Dude."

"Yeah, dude is probably the right word, my dude."

"How many horsies is this baby packin' if it's that much of a problem? Seriously, what the fuck are we hauling? Even Funk doesn't have that kind of expiry, and Phobos' planet was totally--"

"If you knew the amount of intergalactic laws and treaties I've breached on the Earth mission... You'd be both terrified and massively turned on."

"Uh... Dude," Meouch highly doubted that claim... Unless, of course, intergalactic prison time came with a complimentary breast augmentation. "... Disgusting."

By the time Meouch had completed the full cycle of perversion, Sung's preparations completed. Switches flipped and protocols engaged, only one step remained. Sung flipped the glass covering a pair of large buttons emblazoned with and imperative each.

"But forget about that! What's important is preparation for landing. Since we're touching down on the nearest planet we can, our situation may not exactly be... ideal. We must be ready to look down the barrel of any gun pointed at us. Even if it shoots bees." Sung turned, pointing directly towards his confidant. "Especially if it shoots bees."

"God, look, n-- No bees! None! We're crossin' over the Nebu-Nine star system. My Aunt Betty lives there. Will you just focus on us not getting killed, please?" 

Meouch's indignation had barely had time to subside, the gap in conversation he'd created giving way to question.

"So, uh, hey... You don't remember which one of these did the warp speed thing, do ya?"

"Warp drive landing!? You're really tryin' t'get us killed..." Meouch's co-pilot duties were clear in such a situation, though they'd remained unspoken. From his command center, pulleys were pulled and levers were leved in tandem with his captain before he circled back. "Uh... Fuck, okay--Didn't Lord Phobos program these? What do they say?"

"One says 'Hyperspeed'... And the other one just says 'Nut'."

"Ah," The jungle cat nodded with confidence, a chuckle rumbling low in his chest. "It's gotta be 'Nut'."

"How foolish of me! Of course!" Infectious laughter eased the air as the pair of them shook their heads at their stupidity. The last remnants of their rancorous laughter seeped into the intercom as Sung jammed down the panel with his thumb. "Lord Phobos! Havve Hogan! Engaging emergency landing procedure 142120. We're T-Minus 48 seconds to Nebunezzar 9."

The heel of Meouch's hand hovered impetuously above the shining blue button, awaiting Sung's signal. The pair exchanged meaningful glances, smirks, and confident nods before returning their eyes to the stars.

"She's gonna be ridin' us hot and heavy, fellas. Get ready to Nut."


End file.
